In honor of yesterday being Father's Day, let me tell you a little bit about my dad. He lives out of state, so I believe it's safe for me to reveal some details about the man who named me.

First, some background. Being the last of six girls, whenever I tell people this information their first reaction is always, "Oh, your poor father."

Poor father nothing. He had the life. There was always a home-cooked meal waiting for him when he got home from work. There wasn't any arguing about borrowing the car. There were no disputes about who was going to mow the lawn. Dad did it. And he loved it. That was truly his domain.

I'll admit that being daddy's little girl doesn't come without some growing pains. The teen years were really rough. Not just for me, but yep, you guessed it, for poor old dad, too. It wasn't until recently that he admitted to me that he would not go to sleep until he knew that I had made it home. What? I was creeping in the house trying not to make any noise and he was up! There's something not right with that. I wish that I had known this before. It would have saved me from learning the squeaky-step combination, as I crept up the stairs. But that was then. Today, my father is a much more mellow fellow. Although he may know almost instantly when I'm hiding something, he doesn't badger me about it. He waits, because he knows I'll eventually tell him. I believe now that we are finally friends. He doesn't question me too much about my love life, or my future

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plans or how much money I have saved. He just takes me as I am. Daddy's little girl no more, I'm finally taller than he is. When I was in Florida a couple of weeks ago, I realized that I could see the top of his head without even trying. The old man finally is shrinking. I felt a rush of power come over me. Then, it was my turn to be in the driver's seat, literally. We had ventured out for the day and, of course, my pop drove. When we were ready to make our return, however, dear old dad informed me that I would be driving back to my parents' house. I was driving my father home. That hasn't happened since the days when I was learning to drive. What a rush! The speed limit was 65, so I did 64. I really didn't want to hear my father complain about the slightest thing. And he didn't. He rarely drives at night now, he explained. Something about a restriction on his license. Oh well, at least I won't have to stay up, waiting for my pop to creep in from a late night. He'll already be home.

Page designer Joy James writes monthly. She can be reached at jjames@ctpost.com.